Paradise
by SoraPsycho
Summary: AU MILD USUK Nothing serious. Human names used. Alfred's fear of flying would've have almost gotten the better of him if it weren't for Arthur forcing him to go. But things will quickly take a turn for the worst when flying, turns to falling. Gay summary...
1. Odds or Ends

**(A/N: AAAHHHH! IM ONNA PLANE! This is obviously the work of my paranoid, apocolyptic, disaster-dreaming, mind. Warning: Mild USUK. **

**DEAL WITH IT. **

**Short chapters.**

**AU because I know America likes planes, but in this story he has a healthy phobia of them. Everyone has a doctor-prescribed fear of SOMETHING, right? No?**

**Disclaimer: Quiet Prussia! I'm trying to think of a creative gimmick to tell the readers that I don't own Hetalia! Oh...nevermind.)**

***PROLOGUE***

How would he know? He can't tell the future! And even if he could, Alfred still refused to believe that everything would be fine.

How could ANYTHING be fine when he was 10,000 feet in the air?

So WHAT if there is a 1 in 500,000 chance that the plane would crash? Even with odds like that, with his luck, it would be HIS plane to be the odd one out.

Arthur kept telling him over and over again,

'There's nothing to worry about, luv~'

Or,

'It'll be perfectly safe!'

LIES.

Alfred kept denying any statement about the plane being fine and dissmissed any random death-by-airplane facts that his aquaintance, Gilbert, decided to share with him.

But it didn't matter what tactics Alfred used to try and evade that flying metal death-trap, he was being forced against his will.

Isn't this illegal? If it's not, it should be!

You'd think he'd remember the rules of his own nation...

He had rights damnit! And he wasn't about to let them be taken away by some eager Brit! He already had to go throught the whole 'forced by the British' thing before and he didn't feel like repeating the whole process.

And of course, today was the day.

After three long weeks avoiding the subject, today was the day.

He was going to have to get on that airplane, whether he liked it or not.

(Please continue on to chapter two. Sorry this one's so short! I just thought it would be really cool to end it this way!)


	2. Flying or Falling

**(A/N: YAY! CHAPTER TWO! I promise it gets good here...kinda.)**

He wasn't ushered, so much as PUSHED onto the plane. Only, of course, after being dragged up the boarding ramp and held at the tricep by the very powerful fingernails of Arthur.

As he sat petrified in his seat in the aisle, Alfred dug his fingernails deep into the arm rests.

"Relax, we haven't even taken off yet!" Arthur had said.

Alfred shook his head in disagreement. Arthur shrugged and sighed.

The plane started to move, quite suddenly, might I add, and THAT'S when Alfred had lost it. He pretty much kept his composure for MOST of the time but now it was gone.

He started shaking so he pushed himself down into his seat and dug his nails in even further into his arm rests. He squeezed his eyes tight. A cold sweat began to form on his brow. His breath began to tremble and became heavier with each heave.

The plane lifted off the ground and he immediately shoved earphones into his ears. He tried to calm him self by resting his head.

Slowly he drifted into a calm, dreamless sleep.

*Awakening*

He awoke to the sound of panic and absolute despair. His eyes fluttered open just the tiniest bit.

He closed them as tight as he could.

He could almost laugh at how ironic it was, if it weren't for the fact that his plane was falling right out of the sky and plummeting 10,000 feet straight into the ocean below.

*...*

Somehow he felt nothing. As if nothing in the world could be bothering him.

With his life vest tight around him, he stood up.

The first thing he decided to do was to look for Arthur, if he was to die at this moment, he wanted to be with him.

He disregarded calls from stewardesses and headed straight for the cockpit. He didn't know why but it felt like he should be there.

Of course, there was Arthur trying to help the pilot.

Alfred almost sighed in relief until he caught a glimpse of the ocean through the giant windsheild. He began to tremble once more.

"A-A-Arth-u-ur..." The Brit turned his head to the terrified American.

"Alfred..."

Alfred simply kissed him and smiled.

Blackout.

The silence was deafening.


	3. Dead or Alive

**(A/N: THEY ARE NOT DEAD.)**

Pain. Searing pain in his left leg and saltwater in his lungs brought him to conciousness.

He gulped in as much air as his quivering lungs would allow him before violently coughing and tasting the saltiness once more. The tides were very strong and all of his muscles ached so awfully, he couldn't even muster up the strength to push himself forward. A small wave forming behind him tugged him with the push and pull of the sea and gently nudged him ashore. His mouth hung agape; his dry, cracked lips parted to help draw in as much air as he could. As it did help to regain control of his breathing, it also succeded in giving him a mouthful of sand. He spat it out and heartily coughed and wheezed.

And then he heard it. Over the crashing and splashing of waves. Over the blood pounding in his ears. Over his splitting headache. Over his own fear. He heard it. The whimper, the breath of another being.

His eyes shot open. They stang terribly. What he initially saw confused him, because he couldn't see anything.

All it was to him was a dull, , blur. And then it hit him. He had lost his glasses.

Although his vision was impaired, he could easily recognize the still figure infront of him.

Arthur.

He dragged himself over to the poor, ragged-looking man.

Instantly Alfred's thoughts switched from his own suffering and well being, to Arthur's.

_Was he all right? Was he in pain? Is he still breathing? I pray to GOD he's still breathing...I just heard him but you never know! Is he cut? Is he hurt?_

All these thoughts simultaneously entered his mind and bounced around his head as Aflred hauled his weight over to Artie.

His wet, sandy, golden locks fell into his face as he tried to lift himself off of the ground, to no avail. He attempted it but the rest of his desheveled body wouldn't allow it. He crawled over to his love.

"...A-" He almost couldn't get the word to form; his throat was on fire.

"Arthur?" He croaked.

He held his breath.

The world held it's breath as well.

Emerald eyes emerged from their hiding place.

"Alfred..."

His heart heaved a huge sigh of relief as he heard the name being whispered through pain.

Alfred climbed over and with the last of his strength wrapped his arms around Arthur.

Arthur let his head go limp into Alfred's shoulder.

Alfred looked around at the godforsaken spit of land they has been cast away to.

He saw tracks in the sand where he had dragged his soaked body up the shoreline.

He noticed that parts of the plane had washed up as well.

A wing.

An engine.

Some crates and suitcases.

_'At least we don't have to start building from scratch.' _He thought.

He had then taken the full grasp of this situation.

They were stranded.

They crashed. They were here. Alone.

Stranded.

**(A/N: Thank-you to everyone who puts up with these short little chapters I've decided that the whole story was basically going to be. No obviously they are not dead, it just seemed that way when I ended the last chapter. So...yeah.)**


End file.
